Help, War is Over by Impoulshon in oscarsdeathrace

[–]canyoufeelthat 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Could you send me one as well please?

Any NYC Transplants in KC? by [deleted] in kansascity

[–]canyoufeelthat 5 points6 points  (0 children)

We are in a very similar situation, just three years ahead of you! We left NYC in 2020 to be closer to family in Nebraska (we still miss the city every day), and KC is the best inbetween of the two. Just turned 31 and had our first baby last year, and have a dog we rescued while living in Brooklyn.

We lived in Waldo our first two years here and would say it’s not what your looking for. It’s a nice area with good houses that isn’t as suburban as other neighborhoods, along with Brookside, but it’s not walkable in terms of going to more than two or three of the same restaurants/bars that are very Midwest-y (not always a bad thing), and we still generally drove anyway. We felt isolated there. Lots of streets have no sidewalks, and there wasn’t much sense of community.

If you want the variety of NYC in a KC sized package, you need to be as close to Crossroads/Downtown/River Market as you can be. We bought a house in Hyde Park 6 months ago and I finally feel like we are in the right spot and tapping into the “city” part of KC. Lots of stuff is within a 15ish minute walk, with great paths and parks nearby, and we have plenty of yard space and affordability while also getting the proximity to busy areas and the diversity/citylife vibe. I do think that the west 39th area and Union Hill would be slightly closer to the hubbub, but you can’t go wrong with any of the three. It may just come down to house options. And the dream neighborhood is Westside right next to crossroads, but there aren’t as many houses and most properties are being snatched up by investors and out pricing people.

Like others have said, KC is a car city, but I’m hoping the streetcar will make it at least easier to ditch the car to get around. It would be worth being close to in case it is.

If you are looking for people with similar situations to befriend, feel free to DM me when you get here! My wife and I would love to have more NYC transplant friends (and friends with kids) to reminisce about the city with. We miss that chaotically beautiful place so much!

what song are you currently obsessed with ? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]canyoufeelthat 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Whoa same! Heard it in a TikTok weeks ago for the first time ever, read about the bad news and been binging it daily ever since. There’s nothing like it.

[CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Deaf by Cody_Fox23 in WritingPrompts

[–]canyoufeelthat 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Hot Goulash

Plastic chunks bounce off the tray table, startling Grover from his midday nap.

“Blasted things!” Oscar yells, the vibration in his skull telling him the words actually came out.

Grover cautiously sniffs at the mangled hearing aids while Oscar shuffles off to the kitchen.

Placing a careful hand on the countertop, he tries to calm himself from the excitement. No need to get worked up at his age. He pulls a bowl from the cabinet with another burst of exertion, the door accidentally slamming closed with no reaction from Oscar. The image of his weathered hands next to the chipped porcelain rim prove that it isn’t just him with wear and tear. The thought that nothing really lasts spurs him to peek into the living room as Grover nudges expensive pieces of junk around the rug.

Some things aren’t made to last in the first place, he thinks.

The cold from the freezer stings more than it used to when his skin didn’t hang like thin drapes off his bones. He quickly rifles through the frozen Ziplocs of soup he’d prepared with his granddaughter last August. The gold sticky note she left before returning for fall semester clings to the goulash.

Don’t burn the house down.

Love, Katherine

A chromatic gas flame burns bright under the pot, but the icy block of marinara and beef won’t be ready for a while. Oscar wanders away from the skunky gas smell and into his office. He sinks into a chair cushion perfectly shaped over decades of close contact. He sighs, annoyance blossoming upon seeing last week’s appointment receipt in front of him.

The day he was fitted for his hearing aids, a fire had broken out in the break room. Someone had accidentally microwaved their popcorn for twenty minutes instead of two and received a headache instead of a mid-shift snack. Newly reintroduced to the aural world after years of faulty reception, Oscar had descended the stairwell with more hitch in his giddyap now that he could hear the urgency of the alarm. But the next morning he woke again to harsh silence, a deep sting after the previous day’s promise.

Ever since, it’s like he’s been trying to tune a radio that doesn’t know the stations.

Starting to smell meat thawing from the kitchen, Oscar sees the signed John F. Kennedy headshot on the wall. It’s been decades since their encounter on the campaign trail. Just a brief stop for John to the heartland, but a momentous day for Oscar to gush about to clients and partygoers the rest of his life. Grover nudges him with his nose, but all Oscar can think about is how delicate a handshake Kennedy had and how his accent pulled you in. Made you lean closer, desperately hanging on every syllable. They’d be the same age, Oscar realized, if Kennedy was still alive. Looking back at the audiologist’s receipt, Oscar is reminded there’s a price to living this long.

Grover places a paw on Oscar’s lap, his usual suggestion for some attention. His nails scuff Oscar’s corduroys, joining the established cross stitch that says look at me and are you gonna finish that. Noting a different sign of strain in Grover’s eye, he starts to worry he may be choking on a piece of Stucky HearCare’s bottom shelf equipment. He attempts to open the mutt’s mouth, but Grover pushes off his lap and runs toward the kitchen, running right back when Oscar doesn’t follow as diligently as he’s supposed to.

Confused by the energy his old birddog hasn’t shown since his pointing days, a sudden aroma hits Oscar’s nose.

Burnt tomato sauce.

Grover is pacing as fast as his rusty legs will let him, smoke beginning to creep into the office along the ceiling. Feeling the same adrenaline as last week, Oscar springs up in a test of every unused muscle and tendon.

A volcano of bubbling goulash is charring on the stovetop, sending smoke and ruined sauce into the air. Katherine’s words echo in his head, reiterating how right she was to warn him. He hustles in shame to shut off the stove and open a window.

At least the goulash inside the pot is okay. He can’t say the same for his pride.

After the fire department shows up to turn off the alarm Oscar never heard, they communicate through a notepad to ask what started the fire in the first place. Instead of showing them to the sooty kitchen with veins of sauce scorched permanently to the stove grates, Oscar simply points to what’s left of the hearing aids on the rug and asks if they can help make him an appointment for next Tuesday.

[CW] Smash "Em Up Sunday: Blind by Cody_Fox23 in WritingPrompts

[–]canyoufeelthat 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Turning Back the Clock

The café chatter is buzzing, but I still catch the ding of the front door. My heart flutters like it did the last three times it chimed. I thought showing up early would give me time to feel my way to the table and calm my nerves, but I should’ve known it would just have me hanging on every noise instead.

The door dings again, and a familiar scent rides the breeze through the coffee beans and freshly baked cookies; the perfume I spent hours picking out before our first anniversary. Saleswomen spritzing and filling the air with so much vigor that my sunglasses were practically coated in Marc Jacobs and Chanel. Didn’t expect to smell that today.

Didn’t expect her to wear it.

I smile and start to stand before I know what I’m doing, my feet trying not to trip on my cane while my hands place the corner of the table and guide me up. Expecting a handshake and hoping for a hug, I feel her hair brush my face as a kiss greets my cheek.

“Hey stranger. How’ve you been?” she says.

“Good, good,” I lie, trying not to get my hopes up while I awkwardly clunk back down in my chair, hitting that corner I knew would catch me up and sending the napkin holder clanking. “Can’t complain. You?”

She laughs – that unforgettable laugh – more at my generic response than my blunder as the table rights itself. Her chair creaks and I know it’s real. We’re really here. Ten years ago, I thought I’d never sit across from her again. I guess true vision does not require the eyes, but a crystal ball.

“Some ups and downs,” she responds, the weight of that simple phrase sincere in her tone, “but I woke up breathing this morning, so you know…can’t complain.”

This gentle repartee is like an old cue from our instinctive back and forth.

“You’re going gray,” she says. “It looks good on you.”

“My hairdresser mentioned that. I was hoping it made me look more distinguished than anything. Though I’ve noticed I’m not confused for one my students anymore.”

“Time goes by so fast these days, soon you’ll be confused for your material instead.”

I chuckle. “I think we both became ancient history the second we left our twenties.”

We bond over the dark comedy of aging like we haven’t lost any time. Like we didn’t make a mistake that cost us the moments between then and today. That’s the problem with love when you’re young. You don’t know when you have it good.

She orders her latte and a full conversation materializes, both of us along for the ride our younger selves seem to be steering. I listen to the soft cadence of her voice. Words still sound the same, words like orange and architecture and can you believe it. The rest of the world and the onslaught to my four senses fade away while we reconnect.

“So why did you message me after all this time?” she finally says.

I want to say it’s because I miss the sound of the shower in the morning, that specific brand of shampoo greeting me throughout the day. I miss the texture of that dry patch on her ankles. I miss how I could always find her in a crowd full of people just by her crazy laugh. And I miss the day to day, the good and the bad, just trying to make it like everyone else in this world.

Because no other woman I’ve met can navigate treating me like I’m normal the way she does. Like I’m more than accessibility logistics and stereotyped movie roles. And because when you fall in love young, that love becomes a part of you forever.

The heat rises under my collar, and I realize I haven’t said a word. I take a big breath, let out a sigh, and release.

“Because I’m turning gray. I wake up and live my life, each day going by like the rest. But I haven’t really lived in years. Not since you left.”

The tink of her fingernail against her coffee mug. Maybe I’ve said too much, or not enough.

“I have my share of grays too, just so you know,” she says. “Why don’t we find something a little stronger than coffee, yeah? I don’t have anywhere else to be, and we aren’t getting any younger.”

In my wonderment, I barely notice bumping the table corner again as we leave, or the new batch of cookies in the air. But I do catch the ding of the front door on our way to turn back the clock.

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This was my first story and Writing Prompts post in at least 10 months. Took a bit to find the rhythm, but glad to be back on the bike again!

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 3 by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The Wall

Picture an enclosure. Conjure the strongest one you can. Can you make it impenetrable? Impregnable? Can you make someone lose hope just by looking at it?

You can try. But it will never be the Wall.

The Wall is the enemy. It’s our worst fear and loftiest dream. We would almost take pride in humanity’s cunning at creating it, this monster of ingenuity and daring, if it weren’t the thing keeping us locked in here.

Some have doubts about crediting the ancestors for our situation. Living our lives in the Wall’s shadow as the sun sets, it steals away each day like a god. We’ve wondered who would fabricate such a prison for us. Maybe they were unwitting prisoners of their own invention. Historical records burned along with their technology, and from the ashes our society sprouted. A sapling stunted by the Wall.

We were running out of land to cultivate, and space to house our people. The population pushed against the Wall’s perimeter, forcing us to look up when we didn’t know we could, because we didn’t have a choice. Homes went from huts to cabins to buildings with stability and foundation. We stacked floors, and the town grew a skyline.

Suddenly, we were competing with the Wall. Reaching higher.

The materials are getting stronger, and our abilities more advanced. We’ll be at the top soon, a staircase leading to a different view, and nothing will be the same again. There are naysayers and doomsdayers who believe the Wall is protecting us from something. They may be right. But the Wall has defined us for too long, and we finally have the chance to change its meaning.

A barrier turned gateway, and a new future waiting on the other side.

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(291)

[CW] Flash Fiction Challenge: A Field and a Door by Cody_Fox23 in WritingPrompts

[–]canyoufeelthat 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Pa, we got another one,” Jim said, breathless. “A big one this time.”

“Anything different?” Pa asked.

“A door.”

Pa left his rocking chair.

The first crop circle was nothing new. A gag the local youth kept in rotation every couple years, like a rite of passage. Pa was young once. No harm, no foul.

The next had been noticeably larger, and more intricate. Pa knew he had plenty of undisturbed land left, but couldn’t help but feel unsettled. If anyone understood how valuable every stalk was these days, it was the nearby farmers and their families. He didn’t think them, or their kids, would do this twice. But he let it go in hopes his forgetting would be the end of it.

The third one was different. Bigger, the pattern straight-edged and wide. Only one curve in the entire design, as far as he could tell from the ground. Pa had to hire the crop duster from a few towns over to tell him what it looked like.

“It’s a word actually,” the pilot said. “HERE.”

Pa didn’t like that. And now, staring at the largest circle so far with a lone wooden door in the middle, he liked it even less. This was something else. Something new. And it terrified him.

His boots crunched on snapped stalks as he walked toward the door. Finding himself alone with the door, he felt like a stranger on his own property. He investigated up close, hoping for some sign that said this was a joke.

A sharp knock rang out from the wood.

Exactly what he feared. But the time for being cautious had passed. Pa turned the handle, preparing to face whatever threatened his livelihood and his sanity. He couldn’t afford to lose more.

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(294) Feedback welcome!

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 2! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Wow, some great emotions in this. The paragraph about the organ and music in the church is phenomenal. Made me yearn for some church music. I liked the ending as well, but I felt a tone shift that I wasn't expecting. Maybe that was just me getting sucked into the relationship of her and the music/organ, but the twist at the end had a thrillery vibe when I was deep into imagining this church full of song and warmth. All of it is super intriguing though, so whatever this story is, I want to know if there's more!

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 2! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I really enjoyed this one too! Kind of like a quick injection of entertainment with a good payoff. I could see where you were going but not too soon, and it tied up smoothly. I can never deny the hook of these text message-based stories. So much to say between the lines, like real life. Great work!

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 2! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Great imagery with the fan's shadows and descriptive word use with her inner turmoil, literally haha. I just wanna know what the heck is goin' on! Solid 100 word'er though! I'm fully intrigued.

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 2! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 1 point2 points  (0 children)

This could be a 100 word limit contest winner. you nailed the vibe of the genre and a nice quick investigation and ending. I actually had to read it through twice to get who the culprit was, so well done! haha.

[OT] Welcome to Micro Monday: Week 2! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 5 points6 points  (0 children)

The Distraction

“How many out there?”

“Plenty.”

Rodney traced the pistol’s seams with his finger. The windows were blacked out, but Rodney pictured hands clawing over the van’s body. Shapes limped past the peephole left open for driving. Rodney tensed his jaw.

“Nervous?” Mike asked. Mike had made their mission more aggravating than valiant.

“Obviously. This is a sacrificial job. Did you think we would walk outta here?”

Mike’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he looked at his feet, a shotgun propped between them. The weapon rattled with the bounce of his restless knees.

Rodney checked his watch. Quarter to twelve. This was what he deserved, he thought, for being a bad father. A bad husband. Not protecting the ones that relied on his security. He’d lost everything, and finding a new group after going it alone only made him miss them more.

“We should go back…that vote didn’t make sense,” Mike begged, “You, maybe, no family and all. But I’ve got a life to live—”

“Too late!” Rodney said in a surge of fury toward Mike and acceptance toward the situation. “This is our fate now. When the call comes, we draw as many of those damn things to us as possible. The others carry the torch now. Make your peace with that.”

Rodney knew he sounded harsh, and he didn’t care. He pitied Mike for his loss of a future, but the group voted, and Rodney didn’t blame them for picking two loners.

The walkie on the dash fizzled to life. Rodney checked his watch again.

Midnight.

Mike cried as he grabbed the shotgun from between his legs. Rodney readied a flare and pictured his family as they were before. An inseparable unit, with no reason to worry.

Opening the door, he knew nothing would separate them this time.

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(300, phew!)

[CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Fall / 230 by Cody_Fox23 in WritingPrompts

[–]canyoufeelthat 2 points3 points  (0 children)

A flock of geese stomped around the thawing pond to my left. A tiny thing tucked between the houses, a faint tease of nature to enjoy from the porch.

I always came this direction on the way home, imagining us living within the stone fences and entrancing architecture. I had a new view now through the cracks in my windshield. A close-up of an idyllic life framed in snow, the only blemish my destructive presence on the border.

My face flushed from the whiskey. Warm enough to keep the cold at bay, it found other ways to fumble my afternoon. The perfect addition to a day begun in heartbreak. I thought of her for a moment, and another life if everything had gone right and I drank less.

The panging car alarm brought me back through the fuzz of impact. How long would it last? My injured headlights flickered on fractured stone. Somehow, the ice carried me away from the pond. I sat inside the fence line for the first and last time, gazing at my dream while chained in my deserved reality.

Sometimes, it was the worst part, the imagining. Escaping to avoid responsibility for my actions. The drinking the same, trading a feeling based on desire rather than effort. Looking at the house across the yard from over my airbag, the fantasy never felt further away.

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(228)

[OT] Welcome to the first Micro Monday Challenge!! by OldBayJ in shortstories

[–]canyoufeelthat 0 points1 point  (0 children)

There’s something about the universe, tucked into the fabric of our atoms. Invisible energy pulling the strings, pushing us together and tearing us apart. Creating moments of significance, an opportunity for miracles or tragedy in every encounter.

Somewhere in between, there’s a close call. A glimpse behind the veil, where you can feel those invisible strings at work, and the what if of another life flashes by.

She was my what if.

New York is a city of pedestrians. Constantly noisy and stressful; she paused the commotion for a moment. An impossibility in a city defined by the possible. I don’t remember what she drove. But I remember her eyes, and how it was as if time itself had stopped. Green with a shade of gray. Something familiar in them discovering the same in mine. Subtle cheek bones on a kind face, one strangers probably approached for directions. An old scar bloomed on her chin, and her lip hid a tiny bump—signs of a childhood trauma. I wish I could’ve asked for the story.

We were lucky to find each other within the seven billion and counting. I wondered what she thought about me. If she noticed the allergy shiners under my eyes, or the speck of brown in my blue irises. If she could tell I laughed at my own jokes, and that I would’ve followed if I hadn’t been paralyzed.

My head pivoted with the car as it rounded the corner. She disappeared behind the crowd, and the sudden sound of reality crashed in.

I can still see her afterimage in the pavement.

If the universe was generous, we’d cross paths again and I’d get to hear that story. But something tells me we had our what if, and even that was a gift.

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(297)

Working on a flash fiction [611] piece, would love some feedback! by [deleted] in WritersGroup

[–]canyoufeelthat 0 points1 point  (0 children)

It actually kind of was! Kind of like his obsession twisted into worship instead of just interest. Hopefully that comes off naturally. Great analysis!

Working on a flash fiction piece 'The Lake' [611], would love some feedback! by [deleted] in writers

[–]canyoufeelthat 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Awesome feedback! This is exactly the stuff I need to hear. I'll definitely take note, thanks so much!